


Ace of Grace

by TheMightyMilkbone



Series: Negima: Ace Tales [1]
Category: Mahou Sensei Negima!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dogfightan WAFF and Toilet Humor, F/M, Mundus Magicus Bit Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2628737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyMilkbone/pseuds/TheMightyMilkbone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The long haul is only boring when you let it be that way, and Johnny Raidein is almost never bored. To be fair, though, some company helps. (Features Magic World bit characters, vague AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ace of Grace

_The Mighty Milkbone presents_

**Ace of Grace**

* * *

What a grand thing it was to have the sunset at your back.

An old Manta E-385 cargo fish cut a lazy arc through the desert skies, spirit engines humming with power. The careworn, pock-marked craft had seen better days, but in its owner's hands it flew like a dream, juking smoothly around a tall rock spire. Off in the distance lay trackless wastes with painted dunes, a rest stop beyond a range of mountains, and - if Lady Luck smiled brightly enough - a mystery in between. The man at the helm would see it all, and he grinned at the thought of it.

Johnny Raidein was one of those precious few people who can honestly say that they love their jobs, and his record agreed with him. Over twenty-two years of long hauls, he'd never missed a deadline, never wrecked his vehicle, and never lost a shipment. Just last month the Tempa Terra Trucker's Guild had awarded him for exemplary conduct.

Worthy award for a worthy career, he figured. Freight pilots were some of the most street-savvy people in all of Mundus Magicus; for them, having circled the world was the norm, not the exception. Through a combination of good cheer and dogged opportunism, Johnny had built up a solid social network, and friendly letters from afar were his balm against tough times and boredom. Not that he was bored often, of course.

Much less so now.

"Lynn, one of these days I swear I'm gonna steal your poker face and make a killing in the pro tours." Nimble fingers walked a coin from one pale knuckle to another. "Or would you care to trade? I'm nothing if not terribly pretty, y'know."

A disdainful huff. "Oh, cut it out already, Kristin. We've been wise to you for months now. Go ahead; try pulling that extra ace out of your sleeves, I dare you."

"My, my~ Now how could I do that? I don't _wear_ sleeves, remember?"

"Ba ha ha ha! Hey, he's got a point there, Aisha. Somebody have too much to drink, eh?"

"C-Craig! You...!"

Thump, thump. "Oi, Lynn, where you goin'? Game's not done yet!"

"...Need more booze."

It had been a while since Johnny had taken passengers anywhere, especially ones that claimed to be in the adventuring business. The mixed-race group was sitting on the floor near the hold, playing cards and losing spectacularly to their brunette fist-fighter. Though they were a little rowdy, as adventurers tended to be, Johnny had taken a liking to them, and they paid well to boot. Having cute girls around for once was a bonus all its own.

"You're really tempting me here, kids," he called over his shoulder. "I've got half a mind to play a couple hands on the control deck and win you outta house and home."

"Well doesn't that beat all," chuckled burly Craig Caldwell. "Look out, guys, Johnny-san's got his knife in the wall. I mean, this is how crazy things start, y'know. Next thing you realize, he's gonna be raiding our drinks and then the ship's doing barrel rolls. We're really at your mercy, ain't we, old timer?"

Aisha Coryell turned and smiled agreeably at her driver. "Kidding aside," she said, "you really are welcome to have a glass with us, Johnny-san. Spirits know we've got too much of the stuff."

Johnny shrugged. "Gonna have to turn you down, I'm afraid. Even old junkers like my baby here practically fly themselves, but I've still gotta keep standards, and driving sober's one of 'em. Hey, don't look so downhearted, missy; I've got a pint in Mambasta with my name on it. Literally."

Kristin Danchecker was no demihuman, but Johnny swore he saw the slender rogue's ears perk up anyway. "Oh, right, Mambasta," Kristin said. "Speaking of, old timer, you ever been to Chaka's Grill? You know, big restaurant on the hill, best pasta in the world?"

Johnny nodded, suddenly hungry, and soon the Manta's occupants were debating food with a passion. Filled with tasty thoughts and an endless well of anecdotes, the black-haired man chattered on where he felt it appropriate, though he kept his eyes fixed on the vast wilderness before him. When he was young and much more naive, he'd been enchanted by deserts despite their many dangers. He admired them differently now; as far as he was concerned, the sands were strictly for looking, not for touching.

Still, who knew? Those kids might actually find something there.

Rumors had been spreading lately of an ancient temple complex, newly revealed by shifting sands. Built into a rock face by hands unknown, it had weathered the elements and uncaring time, only to be rediscovered by looters out doing what they did best. The trinkets (and the injuries) they'd returned with were enough to convince some people that the ruins were real...including Craig's little group, it seemed.

_Best of luck to you all,_ Johnny thought, _and be careful. Shame to see you all kick the big one so early in life._

Just as he was about to broach a subject he'd been considering for a while-

"Hm?"

-he felt someone slouch heavily against the side of his chair. Johnny looked up and found Lynn Garland staring down at him, her impassive face belying clear inebriation...which was saying a lot, considering demihuman physiology. To think she was the one winning their game!

Johnny remembered what he'd last heard her say, and chuckled. "Looks like you might've gotten a little lost, jou-san. Need a lift?"

Lynn blinked once, languidly. "Huh," she deadpanned. "Thought this was the place that...place that stuff happens. Booze happens. Boooze. Heh, booze. Boozeboozebooze-"

_Oh, you got lost, all right. And straight through the dregs, from the looks of it._

"Ah, crap." Kristin's voice from the rear was long-suffering, and if the sound of someone standing up could be long-suffering, his was that too. "Sorry 'bout that, Johnny-san. Hard to believe she's the worst of us, right? I'll get her-"

"Nah, don't worry, I've got her covered. Gotta be hospitable sometimes, you know?" Johnny locked the Manta into a flight path and got Lynn's arm over his shoulder. "Okay, jou-san, up you come. Time to meet Uncle Craig and his wacky stepsiblings, all right?"

"Mille...millennium hand and shrmmmmn..." The demihuman girl started randomly patting Johnny's stomach, as though searching for something. It was typical drunk-herder's luck, her being the grabby type...though on the plus side she was female and not an itinerant dolphin-man at the Oasis Town bar. That one had been downright traumatizing.

Aisha took control of her friend and set her down gently against a bulkhead. "I know Lynn really well," she said, "so I can tell you she'll be fine in less than an hour. Still, I-"

Johnny waved her off. "Hey, when I keep telling you folks you don't have to be sorry, I mean it. Just relax; I chose this route for a good reason, you know. More like a few good reasons, actually."

"Well, if you say it like that..." Suddenly, the rosette mage felt a tug at her arm. "Eh? What is it, Lynn?"

"You." Lynn pointed sloppily at Aisha, then at her male companions. "And you. You should kiss. All of you. Do it. Do it now."

"Wh-wh-wha-wha-?!"

Insert maidenly blush here.

Kristin snickered. "Hold onto your pants, guys. The Drunken Master strikes again!"

"This happens often?" asked Johnny.

"Like you almost wouldn't believe," said Kristin. Johnny nodded, opting not to mention how oddly hopeful his friend had sounded just now.

Craig just shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned. "Well, Johnny-san, there you go. You've seen us at our worst, so you're pretty much an honorary treasure-hunter whether you like it or not. Y'know, like family."

The swordsman had made a bad move among bad moves; Aisha rounded on him in an instant. "F-Family?! Is that really all I-er, all we are to you?! Explain yourself, please!"

"...Okay, maybe I was wrong about the whole 'at our worst' thi-ARGH! Aisha, what the hell!"

Ah, youth.

As Christian tried to pull his comrades apart, Johnny indulged in a ripple of laughter, but his voice soon fell and his neck hair began to stand on end. He had sharper senses than most - an old legacy and mixed blessing - and now they were working overtime for reasons he couldn't explain. Suddenly he felt it in the air - something potent and cloying that made him feel like he was walking through quicksand. Something vaguely familiar...but from where? Searching for the source, his eyes fell on Lynn: Lynn, eyes cloudy and flushed to the tips of her large ears.

"Mmmn." A subtle shift in her legs, a quickening of her breath.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Good," was Lynn's murmured response, "No more abs...abstractions. Distractions. Same difference. Mmm, abs."

Johnny blinked. "...Something the matter, jou-san?"

"Yes, Johnny-san," Lynn purred. "Something is the matter. I am the something. It's me." Slowly and with undeniable purpose, the brunette extended one hand to him; the other was busy loosening her shirt's tie. "So c'mere...help me be more than something..."

...Ah, now he got it. Demihuman pheromones. Truly, alcohol was a frightening and humbling god; Kris-san hadn't been kidding when he'd called her the worst of the bunch.

_Boy, for a second there I thought I had my charm back at forty-five. Kind of a shame, really. Oh well._

Johnny stepped forward to use his famous Drunk-Tamer Lullaby Technique (read: patting and shooshing the target to sleep) when the alarm sounded - a thin, shrill beep that stopped everyone in their tracks. Christian raised a tentative finger, as though he had a point to make.

"Um...that sound is a good sound and not a 'we're all about to die' sound, right?"

Johnny shrugged. "Can't say for sure," he said. "All that means is somebody's hailing us, though who else'd be out here at this hour is anyone's gue-"

Because the man Murphy is a gigantic [Hellas expletive not translatable], the heavens crumbled at exactly this moment - no later, no sooner. A magic particle beam, then another, and yet another lanced down from the sky and plowed into the desert floor, terminating in a series of explosions that rocked the Manta upward and pelted it with superheated sand. To his credit, Johnny leapt for the cockpit and swung himself painfully into the pilot's chair, wrestling with the controls. Once his ship had leveled out, he mashed the comm button and met the incoming hailing frequency. Experience shoved the desire to snap and snarl into the back of his mind; a smooth, measured response was needed now - words that held the power to avert fate.

**[Connection established.]**

The holographic image that greeted him was one he'd never seen in his life, though he doubted he'd be forgetting it anytime soon. Dressed in a tight naval coat, white sweater, long britches, and sea-boots, the woman cut an odd figure even for the Magic World, but made up for it by leaking dominance from her pores. Craig and his group, even Lynn, who looked less out of it than before, staggered up to watch as the woman flicked back her long, blonde hair.

"Cargo vessel, this is Captain Maelen Schaefer, leader of the Corvus Cornix pirates. You are ordered to disengage any and all defensive measures and prepare for boarding. Fail to do so, and I will cripple your ship and seize your cargo by any means necessary. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do," Johnny replied. _Stay calm, stay friendly. Keep things conversational._ "Name's Hans Solodan, raw materials transporter...and friend to hitchhikers, as you can see. I'm...assuming you've got more than one ship on hand?"

Captain Schaefer made a small, amused noise. "But of course," she said. "Strength in numbers is just good sense. But you shouldn't be worried about that; what you want to focus on is being whole and flying at the end of the day. You've seen what we can do to you if you try to defy us. Choose your path from here wisely, mister Solodan."

"...I'll need some time to think it over. This cargo's important, and my employers'll cut me loose if I don't deliver."

"Since when does a price tag measure up to your own life?"

"Just give me a moment. Please."

"Hmm. I suppose that's all right." Full lips quirked up in a smile. "I must say, mister Solodan, you've been quite pleasant about this. A frequent mark, perhaps?"

Johnny betrayed a twitch at this statement. "I don't think there's a guy alive who likes saying he ain't got a perfect record, but what can you do?"

"Indeed. Ah, as an afterthought: I'll be sure to let you keep those vagrants of yours aboard. I am many things, but none of those things enjoy slavery...oh?"

Four heads turned as one toward the side of Johnny's chair. Once again, Lynn was pointing at someone, and this time it was Captain Schaefer.

"You. Hey. Hey you."

"Yes?"

Lynn held her precarious balance. "I don't like you," she slurred. "I think your outfit is ridi...ridic...ridonkulous. Also, you can't take Johnny-san. He's mine. Rowr."

Muted laughter filtered across the audio feed, and Kristin suspected he even heard someone facepalming. Schaefer, however, betrayed nothing of the sort.

Not one to leave drunkenness at half-measures, Lynn promptly grabbed a garbage bin and threw up in it.

"...Some truly fine passengers you have today, mister Not-Johnny Solodan. This transmission is over. Contact us once you've made an intelligent choice, which I'm sure you will."

As the image of Captain Schaefer winked out, Johnny checked and double-checked a spate of technical readings on one console. "Okay, transmission's definitely cut. Breathe easy, folks."

_If only I could breathe easy too,_ he thought. _She knows at least part of my real name now, and she's got my face too. A pirate can really dog you with information like that._

Craig let out a strained breath. "I'd say this settles it," he said. "We have the worst timing of anyone I know. God damn it, Lynn."

"I regret nothing," mumbled the voice from the floor.

Johnny nodded, unfazed. "As she shouldn't," he said. "If the pirates think we're bad fighters, then that's good for us. At least for the moment, anyway."

The Manta had slowed gradually to a floating stop; Kristin leaned heavily over its controls, staring out at the gloaming desert. "I guess so," he muttered, "but what now, old-timer? Wherever those Cornix guys are, I don't doubt they've got us pinned down tight. And for the record, I really don't want to get nabbed by pirates, no matter what the sexy lady might say about slaves."

What now?

Johnny thought about that question - really thought about it. His ship was no frontline pounder and never would be. He'd won his share of boat-races in his time, sure, but if Schaefer's weapons did what he thought they could do, speed wouldn't get him much of anywhere.

Good thing that wasn't all he had, then.

"Aisha-chan, could you help a guy out and flip that switch over there? I've got ideas."

"Right...!"

"Okay...I wouldn't be saying things like 'wherever they are' just yet, Chris-san. Get a load of this."

A new hologram winked to life on the Manta's front window. Above them, an unassuming spy node had opened up on the ship's dorsal side - a valuable asset and personal addition.

Johnny fiddled with a touch-screen at his right, and the hologram's image shifted wildly. "Wait for it," he said, "and there we go. Here's our pirates, and from the looks of it, we might have a good chance at fighting back."

The node's imaging systems zoomed in on a series of fuzzy gray blobs in the distance, and Johnny smiled triumphantly. Schaefer had nothing if not a huge set of stones; what a ruse she'd tried to pull!

"Huh. Three of 'em, eh?" Craig's voice rose with curiosity. "Wait, this's weird...two of those ships don't look right."

"That's because they've been modded. See how a lot of the armor is gone? And check out all that fancy hardware bulging out of the gaps. These little guys are unmanned relays for that bigger one in the middle there, the wannabe whale. Now look at the spirit cannon on that one. Notice anything?"

Aisha hummed her understanding. "I think so. I don't know much about ships, but still, the cannon doesn't seem big enough somehow. Like it couldn't have-"

"-Couldn't have fired that shot from before, yeah. My bet is, those little fish at the sides are part of some black market system that lets them mimic a warship gun: pinpoint vectoring, repeat fire, the works. Since my other sensors are working for all of jack squat, there's probably some cobbled-together stealth drive at work, too."

"I get it," muttered Kristin, and he folded his wiry arms. "They were bluffing us. Come in out of nowhere, show some muscle, then make yourself look big and mysterious...not bad tactics."

"And when push comes to shove, the illusion doesn't even matter. One false move and they'll just snipe you."

Aisha clasped her hands under her chest. "Please tell me you're not implying that's what happens to us."

Johnny grinned. "Hell no. You think I got to be where I am today by kowtowing to pirates? Cut-rate pirates with a _tiny boat?_ No, we're getting out of here with the ship, the cargo, and our lives today. We're gonna show these guys something nasty, if we can get things right. You got sobriety potions on hand?"

"We don't care much for them, mostly 'cause they're addictive and give you stomach cramps, but yeah."

"Good. Be sure to slug some down; we're gonna need all the quick wits we can get. Now then, I can't see any other weapons hardpoints on Schaefer's rig, but I'm assuming they'll have backup munitions somewhere, so..."

As plans were laid in motion, Johnny booted up the Manta's hidden barb. If all went well, Schaefer would never see this coming. And since he didn't mind adding insult to injury...

Truckers had good connections. A friend of a friend of a friend of his knew a bunch of Oldworlders, and he'd sent him something pretty goofy from across the Gates a while back. Truth be told, he'd always wanted to find some greater use for it.

_Sure hope you've got a decent sense of humor, Captain. Or not._

* * *

Schaefer leaned back in her chair and pondered things, as was her custom when she had anyone well and truly at her mercy. Closing her eyes, she imagined how the pilot, mister Solodan, might argue and rage at his passengers, attempting to throw them off his ship and run like a coward...offering the predator a new meal, you could say. Oh, what was that? She'd said she didn't enjoy slavery? Well, she said a lot of things, few of them true.

Oh, how they might fight back...the desert was a harsh place to be dropped into, after all. Yes, fight back, and maybe, just maybe...

A low purr built up in her throat as her mind conjured further possibilities.

It was so good to be in charge of things.

"They're hailing us, sir!"

**[Priority message from Captain Solodan:]**

"Ah, perfect timing. Patch it through; I'd like to see if they beg..."

She expected pale faces; she expected fear; she expected obedience.

She did not get what she expected.

What she got was a singing Russian man.

**["TROLOLOLOLO, LOLOLO, LOLOLO, LOLOLO-"**

As it turned out, the pirates knew more about crappy memes than even Johnny had expected. "...He thinks to mock us. _The fool thinks to mo-_ "

Trollface cascade!

**[U MAD?]**

There was a squeal of abused metal; Schaefer, bug-eyed and seething, had crumpled her arm-rests like so much tissue paper.

"Weapons Officer Bald...?" Her voice left her mouth quavering.

"S...Sir?"

"Clip their wings. NOW!"

"Aye, sir!"

* * *

_Here comes the sting, you scurvy sons of bitches!_

* * *

A swift, rippling _something_ suddenly washed over the ship, and pandemonium broke loose at every angle.

"Manta's on the move, sir! They're comin' right for us!"

"Sir, the cannon's not working properly!"

"Resonance system is down! Stealth inactive! The skeleton ships aren't responding!"

"It's some kind of jamming pulse!"

"How the hell did they do that? _We_ can't even do that!"

Schaefer stood up, nearly tearing the chair away from its bolting in her distraction. "Shit! Angle us in! We're dusting them even if we have to do it point-blank! Launch the Piranha drones! Empty the missile banks!"

"But they're only registering-"

"I don't give a damn! DO IT!"

* * *

Despite his headlong charge for the light frigate ahead, Johnny saw its weapons deploy with an ace's clarity.

_Damn, I'm only halfway there..._

"Brace yourselves down there!" he yelled into the intercom. "Gonna be some tricky stuff coming up!"

Eyes widening in focus, he pulled into a spinning climb, even as a pair of short, fish-shaped chasers bore down on him, miniguns riddling the sky with arrows of light...

* * *

"The cannon! Hit him with the cannon!"

"We can't get him in line! He's too quick!"

The jamming pulse had ruined their ability to bring death in all but one direction: straight forward. Schaefer grit her teeth as her crew tried to angle their vessel in; the possibilities of Solodan's approach were maddening! What on earth could he possibly have to bring against her? Manta-class ships that size had no room for anything harmfu-

Oh.

Oh god, no.

"You son of a BIIIIIITCH!"

* * *

The Manta rumbled viciously as its anti-magic shield absorbed a volley of arrow fire. Anchored to the floor of the cargo hold with wind spells, the adventurers grit their teeth in anticipation.

"What the hell's that old-timer pulling off here, Wronski Feints?! Damn!"

"Calm down, Christian; just wait for the signal!"

Vertigo struck as gravity took its toll again and again...

* * *

Johnny let out a whoop as one Piranha stalled, colliding with a swarm of missiles. He'd already confirmed that he was being homed in on, but this confirmed something even more vital: he was being homed in on _badly_. A guy could really work with that.

**[Targets locked. Firing solution acquired.]**

The press of a button launched six unlit flares from the Manta's underside. Because antimagic shielding didn't affect fully kinetic weaponry, nothing stopped them from plowing into the skeleton ships' unprotected hardware. Only then did their runic arrays explode open, releasing a dazzling mass of spell energy.

In the breathless moment when Johnny cut all power to his ship's engines, a good third of everything chasing him did what they'd been programmed to do around high-density magic.

_Bada-boom! How'd you like that?!_

The Manta revived, afterburners powering it away from falling wreckage and into a hellish corkscrew around the length of Schaefer's ship; destruction followed in Johnny's wake as twenty final missiles, dumbed down by the jamming pulse, failed spectacularly to catch him, shearing off the whale's pectoral fins with casual ease.

[Opening cargo hatch.]

Johnny swooped away, and four reinforced bodies slammed down hard on the hull plating near Schaefer's main engine column, ducking low as the final Piranha screamed into view. At a nod from Craig and Lynn, Aisha and Kristin sprinted off with a charm-sealed box, and the big swordsman drew his blade.

_"Ougi..."_

The Piranha strained to follow Johnny through a somersault, one gun firing blanks...

_"Tsubame Gaeshi!"_

...And dove clean into a punishing triple sword beam. What was left of it to hit the desert sands did so as slag.

Craig grinned. _Hah! One less fish to worry about!_

Lynn, sober as could be, tore an external hatch off its hinges as it opened, folded it with her enhanced strength, and calmly used it to stuff a group of pirates back down their exit shaft. She stooped for Craig to flip over her and floor an aiming sniper with a wave of air pressure, then ran for the warbling sound of Christian's favorite grasswhistle. Together, the group stood atop their final handiwork, channeled magic power into its activation circle, and leapt as one into the passing Manta.

One final hologram appeared as a lone, defeated pirate stood frozen with spleen at the center of her bridge.

"In case you didn't notice," said Solodan with a smile, "we made our intelligent choice. Fair winds, Captain."

_I don't think there's any guy alive who likes saying he ain't got a perfect record, but what can you do?_

Further conversation became impossible as the spellbomb stuck to the engines fried them with a massive electrical blast; all other systems responded by going into emergency shutdown.

When the authorities finally reached her fallen wreck, Schaefer was still screaming.

* * *

In movies, people often smoked after pulling off the sort of thing he'd done, but Johnny knew he had nothing of the sort on him and would have to go without. He settled for leaning against a wall and letting the last of the adrenaline work its way out of him. Empty graves, but he hadn't felt like this in ages!

The Manta sat parked nearby under the cover of a hanging rock shelf. The adventurers hunched together on its boarding ramp, excitedly discussing the land before them. To the north, unmistakably man-made columns rose from the sand, and at their distance, you could just barely spot where someone had blown a hole through a stone-hewn door.

_The mystery of the desert, eh? Good on you, kids._

Johnny closed his eyes, and only opened them again when Craig chucked him across the shoulder, grinning enormously.

"Old-timer, you're a piece of work! _The_ piece of work! You gotta tell us how you learned to dogfight like that!"

"Heh. Does it matter? You're the guy who killed an attack drone with a sword, remember?"

Aisha looked nothing less than star-struck. "But it really really does matter!" she chirped. "There were no casualties! And the lawmen barely asked questions! You only ever hear about things like that in Rakan-sama stories!"

"Yeah, Johnny-san, who are you, really? This handsome rogue's curious why anyone would have jamming tech and a spellbomb tucked into their cargo boat, y'know?"

"Nobody likes a pirate, Chris-san," Johnny said airily, "And truckers have good connections. Those're just facts of life."

"No way! C'mon, tell us!"

He who would one day charge the Gravekeeper's Palace spent the next ten minutes deflecting questions, playing down apologies from Lynn for her previous behavior, and reassuring everyone that he'd be tickled pink to have drinks on them...at a later time, of course.

This might have made a decent close to his tale but for the fact that hours later, when night finally fell and Craig set up camp, Johnny ran into company as he was out to stretch his legs.

Lynn tapped him silently on the arm. "May I talk to you?" she whispered.

The trucker stuffed his thumbs into his jeans pockets, clearly in good humor. "Only if you're not gonna apologize again, jou-san."

"No, that's not it. I just...I didn't want to say anything in front of the others, so..."

"Go ahead. I only bite with permission, or if you try to rob me."

"Ah. Well. About the things I said earlier...I gave it some thought..."

"Yeah?"

A blush, faint but noticeable. "...And, um, I realized that I sort of meant them."

Clouds passed over the desert sky, and for a time, all was silent. Then, Johnny let out a small chuckle. "Boy, you young people these days, with your sort-of jobs and your sort-of clothes...it's enough to give a guy a sort-of headache."

Lynn gave him a flat look, which was surprising because he'd thought her expression couldn't get any flatter. "Are you interested in me or not, Johnny-san?"

"...Jou-sa-...Lynn-chan, I'll tell you what: I'm gonna go talk to Craig-san and see if he won't put off going into those ruins till I come back from finishing my run to Mambasta. Tell you the truth, I was gonna bring it up earlier, but, you know, Schaefer happened."

"Why?"

"Well, strange as this may seem, I'm fond of you crazy kids." With that, Johnny slung a comforting arm around Lynn's shoulders, careful not to box her ears. "There's plenty of tough stuff in old ruins, or so they tell me; never know if you're gonna need someone to bail you out. And just between you and me...one more reason to stick around never hurt a fella a bit."

Squeeze. "Good."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Hm?"

"You should try to smile a little more. I think it'd be nice."

"...We could work something out."

Ultimately, things were indeed worked out. Johnny came back from Mambasta; Craig and company promptly got their treasure hunt underway; Craig and company came back with full sacks and chased by angry beasts. Takeoff ensued, and many complaints about snakes were made. Merriment was had in a popular desert tavern.

Again, it really must be mentioned that things were worked out. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

Inside a small, locked house at the edge of an oasis town, there is a bedroom with a large closet, and inside that closet is a shelf. On that shelf lies a velvet-covered box, and inside the box are medals. Their owner never talks about them, and the people who know they exist can be counted on one hand. As it should be.

Surely, it was grand to have the sunset at your back, but only because in a way, you were done flying off into it.


End file.
